Fear of violence, nearly irrational…
Avoids physical confrontation at nearly all costs…
Flight response practically certain in threatening environment…
Weapon aversion bordering on phobic; strong revulsion to guns…
Engelond looked up. "He has a fear of guns?"
"Apparently some incident in his youth. If you read further there is an episode where his father is shot. This occurred in Jones’ presence when he was very young. Jones breaks out in a sweat and trembles at the mere sight of a gun. He reports at least one instance where he passes out."
"And the video?"
"It appears that the painting is near completion. The artist is working from detailed museum photographs. I am no expert, from what I can tell he has done a superb job."
"Excellent work, Keller. I want you with me in St. Moritz when Jones delivers the painting."
"What about the artist."
"Eliminate him after we take care of Mr. Jones."
A quick profit
"How much?"
I needed to give my mind a break. Kelly's got a point. Break-ins, kidnapping, gun shots, dead bodies, government agents, bad guys. It's a little overwhelming. Time to take a breather, get back to work and find something to buy and sell.
The dealer looks at me, looks at the stein in my hands and said, "Three hundred bucks."
I dropped into the South Street Antiques Market on South 6th Street after my informative visit with Uncle Carmine. The SSAM is a cooperative of dealers selling their wares from a converted synagogue. One the oldest in the city, that is, until the Jewish population migrated to the suburbs.
The stein in question was circa 1900 and marked C.G. Schierholz amp; Sohn. Porcelain, a long eared dog with a sad face, with spectacles and a flared hat. The colors, which in this instance were crisp and clean, were brown and green. This character stein is commonly referred to as 'Gentleman Dog'.
"I'll take it. Wrap it for me, please." This particular stein retails in the vicinity of twenty-six hundred dollars. Not a bad days pay. As an added bonus, it managed to take my mind off the last few days, at least for a couple of minutes.
I paid and placed my prize under my arm. Headed to the front door. Just then, something caught my eye. Sitting on a counter, all the way in the back of this booth, was a leaded glass shade. No lamp, just the shade.
Now remember, most of the inventory on the two floors of this coop is mediocre, at best. That's a nice way of saying that most of it is flea market junk. But small treasures do make an appearance from time to time, as evidenced by the small stein.
Two in one day was almost too good to be true. I walked over to the counter, bent over and examined the shade. Looked around, didn't see anyone. I called out, "Who's working?"
Seconds later a short, round woman with too much make-up, too much junk jewelry and white and pepper hair cut with a bowl comes trotting in. Slightly out of breath she asks, "How may I help you, sir?"
"How much?" The shade in question was a conical leaded glass shade. It consisted of yellow amber panels laid out in what had become known as the Prairie School style. It contained both triangular and rectangular segments of iridescent green, yellow and olive amber arranged in a narrow border at the top of the shade and near the rim. Lovely.
She gives me the once over, wondering how much I'm willing to pay. Leaded shades are common and run in the range of a hundred to three hundred dollars. The one that I'm pointing to is not common.
"Two-fifty," is the number that she settles on.
It's impressed with the name 'Linden Glass Co., Chicago, Ill. But, what makes this above average, and thus a little more valuable is that the design is attributed to Frank LLoyd Wright for use in the Darwin D. Martin House up in Buffalo.
"Fine. Wrap it up, I'll take it." I had, perhaps, agreed a little too quickly. Round woman hesitates, realizing that she could have squeezed that extra fifty from me. Too late, deal done.
It's is absolutely beautiful when I step foot outside. The sun is shining and the temperature is in the low seventies. The Morgan is parked out front and Kato is waiting patiently in the back.
"Kato, come. Let's go for a walk." He leaps from the car and joins me as we walk down South Street.
If you ever want to see something cool when visiting Philadelphia, stop into Charles Neri's shop. It's been in the same location on South Street since 1976. The store is jammed with quality antiques but what Charles specializes in is lighting.
Practically every square inch of the ceiling is covered with old chandeliers, all of the furniture stock in the store acts as displays for lamps, and there is barely space to walk because there is additional lighting on the floor.
Here's the best part, there is no junk to be found, anywhere. Everything is quality merchandise.
"Hey, Charles. How are ya?"
Neri's has what may be the biggest selection of antique American lighting in the country. In the last thirty six years he has done business with museums, the state and federal government, and the film industry.
"Long time, son. What have you got?"
I unwrap the lamp shade and put it on a desk. Even after all the years in the business and with all of the stock that he owns, his eyes still sparkle when he sees something new.
"Nice piece, son. What do you have to get?"
I look around the room as though deep in thought. A FLW designed shade of this quality is worth maybe thirty-six hundred. Possibly as high as four thousand in the right store.
"Two grand," I tell him.
"Reasonable enough. Sure, we can do that."
I'm standing there waiting to complete the transaction, that is, I want my money. Charles, on the other hand, is not quite done. "What's in the bag?"
"A German stein." I don't see any steins in the store. What the hell, I unwrap it for a look-see.
He takes it from me, turns it around in his hands. "Very charming, Picker. What do you have to get for it?"
"For you, Charles, or for resale?"
"My collection," he comes back with.
"For you, let's say fifteen hundred."
Charles is no dummy. "That's very generous, young man. It's worth quite a bit more. Thank you."
And with our business concluded, Charles writes me a check. He stops to pet Kato on the head and coos, "Good boy."
Back out on the sidewalk, I look up into the afternoon sky. Take a deep breath. Enough fun and games. Time to catch some killers.
October 1976 Philadelphia
"Anthony, crate two dozen paintings including the Van Gogh. We ship tomorrow." Simon was inspecting the 'Mountains at Saint-Remy' copy.
DeAngelo had transported a few dozen of his 'masterpieces' from his South Philly home.
Simon had just returned from Manhattan. Yesterday he had walked into the front door of the Guggenheim in broad daylight carrying a black messenger tube. He met Price Koch in the museum cafe. They ordered two cappuccinos and sat at table in the corner.
"Price, I want to thank you for a job well done."
"It's not like I had any choice in the matter." The expression on his face contradicted his words. Price actually looked semi-amused.
"Regardless." Simon passed him the messenger tube. "Inside you'll find ten million in bearer bonds along with those compromising photographs and all of the negatives. I apologize for the way this was handled; hope there are no hard feelings?"
Price answered with a low throated chuckle. "To be perfectly honest Simon, originally I was pissed off. In the end, however, everything has worked out for the best, thanks to you. I'm getting professional help and no longer feel as if I'm about to go over the precipice. You’re a man of your word, which is more than I can say about most of the business people I know."